


I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2018 (Complete) [14]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Coercion, Coming Untouched, Day 14 - Torture, Gen, Poison, Vomiting, Whumptober, arousal from torture, assassin!Ignis, thief!noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Time will not make Noctis any less of a thief, and it will not give Ignis the patience he needs to bring Noctis around to the idea.So when Noctis runs away yet again, Ignis has his excuse to proceed. By the time he's done here, Noctiswillbe the Prince.Whether he wants to be or not.





	I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

It's finally happening.

Noctis has made yet another attempt to flee the Citadel, and this time Ignis wasn't able to hold back the assassin in his head.

And so when the Thief ran, the Assassin gave chase. A hunt - a beautiful, wonderful hunt that took every ounce of speed and grace Ignis had, and then some. By the time he had Noctis beneath him, shaking and panting and dark-eyed with want, they'd gone from one end of Insomnia to the other twice. Ignis is still shaking from the rush.

He's never had prey that's matched him so perfectly in speed before. Or anyone that's tried more than once to outrun him. It's what the Scientia line has been made for - speed, endurance, and stealth. But Noctis has spent his childhood among the thief-lords of Altissia, who are just as fast, just as nimble, and just as stubborn. Proud, every last one of them, because they've never been caught.

But today, Ignis is going to break that precious pride right over his knee. He had enough of the chase, enough having to fight Noctis tooth and claw just to get him to do simple tasks. To get him to uphold his blood. The lineage of old kings will not wait for Noctis to be ready to be the realm's protector, and Ignis will not wait for Noctis to become any less of a thief. He's competent, he's willing, but he holds himself above his father, above his kingdom.

It's time to bring this Icarus back down to Earth.

To that end, when at last he catches his boy firm in hand in the darkness of an alleyway, he calls Gladio to bring the car, and a set of their best restraints. Not the Kingsglaive crafted ones, either.

He can practically hear the shock over the phone. Ignis only brings out  _his_  restraints if there's going to be bloodshed. 

"And Gladiolus? Set my room up. The second set, if you would."

The silence over the phone this time speaks not of shock, but of grim understanding. _"I'll see to it, Ignis."_

"Thank you."

A car ride of pure, tense silence where Noctis remained dragged across Ignis lap later, and here they are. In the very bottoms of the Citadel, in the place where only he and Gladiolus have the passcode to. Every Scientia and Amicitia knows about this room's existence, as does the King. It's a room where you go to break people, to learn secrets, to twist knives and make a symphony out of screams. Every Scientia has used this room at least once in their life, and every Amicitia has had to set it up a certain way at least once. It's something of a rite of passage between sworn brothers.

It's a simple room, spacey enough to breath, small enough to contain. A chair bolted to the floor sits in the middle, beneath several dozen lights. There are no shadows on this chair, or the person who sits in it. Several chains with shackles run from the floor around it, and it is these shackles Ignis connects to Noctis' wrists, neck and legs, forcing him to sit wide open and spread. 

Noctis knows pain intimately. He knows torture. So he knows what Ignis is going to do here - what he's aiming for. It's why he doesn't bother fighting when Ignis has Gladio hold onto him while he strips the to-be Prince down to bare skin before binding him to the chair. Why he watches with dark eyes as Ignis examines the toys he has waiting for him on a tray. All the chests are out, lining the walls behind Noctis, just as the setup is meant to go. Beyond the lights on Noctis, there is no light in the room to navigate by.

Gladio helps him strap Noctis in, and then leaves. He has the stomach for torture, but this goes beyond merely breaking someone's mind. Noctis is no ordinary target being brought to heel before the might of the Lucis Caelums. He is a killer of equal standing to Ignis, a fighter and the Prince. 

And really, that's what so aggravating about this whole situation. Were he anyone _other_ than the Prince, Ignis would have recruited him in a heartbeat. Because for the first time since he can remember, the assassin in him views Noctis not as a lesser, but as an  _equal_. Someone who can match him blow for blow, someone who can take whatever he can dish out, and return the favor. It's infuriating. It's wonderful.

Noctis is everything Ignis desires in a partner, but everything he loathes. And if the way Noctis has looked at Ignis over the course of this entire dance is anything to go by, he isn't the only one who thinks that. Unfortunately, this is about business now, not pleasure. As lovely as it would be to have a different set of toys on hand, he's here for one reason.

He summons one of his specialty blades from the Armiger, the one coated in a healthy amount of poison, and steps forward. Noctis knows this blade, but he keeps his eyes on Ignis as he approaches. A simple turn of the hand, and the air around the blade begins to ripple with heat. 

Noctis swallows, still watching him. Slowly, almost gently, Ignis brings the point of the blade to tap against his collarbone. Almost immediately, the skin touching the blade begins to blister. Noctis doesn't give any indication he feels it. He doesn't tremble or beg, or even sweat. He wants this. Welcomes this pain Ignis will give him. 

Ignis smiles, and there is nothing of the polite retainer in it. It's purely the assassin before the thief now, and he has no intentions of playing nice.

He twists his hand quicker than Noctis can follow, and brings the blade down in a broad slash right across his shoulder. The smell of burning meat hits his nose, and the thief hisses out a sharp breath from his nose. Ignis does it again before he can get his bearings, but this time he stops the blade at the end and holds it against the flesh, watching in fascination as the skin bubbles, blisters, and then splits, blood drying before it even begins spilling. 

Such a beautiful sight.

Ignis brings his other hand around, placing it right beneath Noctis' ribcage, and calls a  _Thundera_ down.

The punched-out gasp he gets is music to his ears, nothing but sweet satisfaction. Noctis rides the shock, jerking and twitching against the restraints, against the sizzling flesh. It's only when his eyes start rolling back in his skull that Ignis lets both go, and steps back to let the poison in the blade sink in. 

It doesn't take long. The heat and the shock have set Noctis' heart racing, which pumps the poison that much faster. He leans forward after a short moment and heaves. Ignis watches dispassionately as he vomits, held helpless against shying away from Ignis' sight or stopping it at all.

He runs fingers across the others in his collection, until he reaches for one of his favorites. One with a particular, usually  _thick_ blade, meant to carve in deep, through bone. 

He takes it in hand, and walks around to Noctis' back, this time not even tapping the point against the flesh. 

He finds the spot right between the joint of Noctis's shoulder and his back, and brings the point of the blade down between the two, and begins sawing.

This time, Noctis screams.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

"It isn't so bad, being Crown Prince." Ignis rubs the healing balm over the deep gouges on the inside of Noctis' thighs. "You'd have access to a much wider world - access to knowledge only this kingdom's elite ever know about. You'd have some of the finest warriors in the world at your aid. You would have myself at your side."

Noctis twitches beneath his hands. Maybe its because of the sensitivity of the flesh Ignis spent two hours carving up into such pretty designs, or maybe it's the words. 

"Access to all you once desired for your people. A higher seat to see the problems from - a chance to get at the  _root,_ rather than the  _tip."_

His hand dips down, down, stopping right at the junction of his inner thigh. Noctis' breathing has deepened, and his eyes are open now, on Ignis again. Ignis tilts his head just so, meets his gaze.

"It would all be yours. You need only submit to it."

It takes a few breaths. But Noctis licks his lips and smirks then, the same daredevil smirk he wears when he's fixing to play hardball. "Nah. Doesn't sound like my kind of gig."

Ignis takes his hand away. "Then let us continue."

Hardball it is, then.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

Ignis has always found an odd duality to putting frostbite over burned flesh. There's an odd majesty to it. A deceptive layer of  _well this could have been worse._ People are often so entranced by the cold, they never realize the heat is there until it's all healed, and healed  _wrong._

But his own hands have bitten and been bitten by it in turn, and so when he gently takes Noctis' shoulders in hand, it's easy to reach past the frost and heal the worst of the flames first. Noctis stares up at the ceiling, mouth agape as he gasps, desperately trying to catch air he seems to have forgotten exists.

Pain does that, when it reaches a certain point. 

"Two words, Noctis. Two words, and all of this goes away."

More breathing, but the pattern has changed. There's a semblance of sanity returning to those eyes. He's coming back from wherever he was forced to flee to when the pain went past threshold. If anything, the fact that he  _did_ flee, if only on a mental level, makes Ignis think more of him. It means he's smart enough, quick enough to survive all of this, and probably still come back for more.

"Despite being an assassin, I was also trained to be your retainer. Your perfect shadow. I know how to cook on the same level as any master chef. And did you know, there's a large hot tub within the Citadel? Well - I suppose it's more of an  _indoor spring_ with the size of it. But the point is, the hot water it generates is excellent on sore muscles. You come out feeling like a brand new person. And the heat never runs out. You could stay in there until you prune up, and nobody would say a word."

He brushes the last of the wound away, and reaches for a Potion. "And then of course, there's the beds. Softest things you'll ever sleep in. You won't want to get out. Of course you'd have to eventually for your necessities, but staying in bed for a day isn't always a bad way to go. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Nah," Noctis croaks. "I'm much better on my feet."

But there's a hesitancy to his words this time. A doubt. Ignis doesn't let him see the smile he wears.

"As you say," he says, and reaches for the poisoned knife again.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

It takes six and a half days. The longest anyone has lasted in a Scientia's care, by far. 

It helps that Ignis keeps healing him with potions, keeps him alive to prolong the pain. By the fourth day, Noctis gives a soft, sweet little moan every time one of those vials comes out. He's still fighting, but he's wearing down. Steadily but surely, Ignis is bringing the wild card in their deck to heel. 

It's helped along somewhat by the realization that listening to Noctis scream and watching him writhe and fight the pain is arousing. He's always known the kind of monster he was, but what's surprising is that  _Noctis_  gets hard too - the second time Ignis uses a spell on him, he comes with a shout that runs straight to Ignis' own cock. He's never been so tempted to put down the knife, unshackle his legs and fuck his prisoner before, but they say there's a first time for everything. 

This won't be the last time he sees it, either. The attraction between them has been burning hotter with every chase, every sharp word, every weapon that's come out. Now it's a raging inferno between them, as Ignis breaks every barrier Noctis has, crosses every line in the sand, and Noctis bleeds and comes and screams and still looks at him with such dark eyes. 

It makes Ignis want to absolutely  _ruin_ him for anyone else.

He keeps up the conversation during healing periods, steadily grinding away at Noctis' resolve by telling him all about the creature comforts of the Citadel - the beautiful morning sunrise that he could watch from floor-to-ceiling windows at the very top, the excellent service of the staff, the gardens, the climbing area, the gym, the training mats. All of it. 

And with every round they share, he can feel Noctis starting to struggle to find a reason to keep fighting him. He slumps a little longer each time, takes a bit more to get up and get going. Ignis never waits, never lets the beat stop. 

Six and a half days, but it's worth it. Ignis can tell the exact moment the last spark of fight leaves his beautiful thief, because Noctis' eyes close, and his body slumps, and he doesn't move even when the healing is done. 

Ignis waits. He doesn't immediately reach for the dagger again, or the elemental essences he's brought to help him cast the spells. He listens to Noctis breath, slow and deep, almost asleep. 

He waits, and he is rewarded.

"Okay."

It's barely more than a whisper. A croak. Noctis runs tongue across teeth-bitten lips, and slowly drags himself up. His eyes are no longer dark - they've gone a paler blue beneath the haze of pain, but they're clear now. Alive. But all the sharpness in them has fallen back. He looks smaller for it. More approachable.

Less a thief, more a Prince.

"Okay," Noctis says again, and this time Ignis can't hold back his smile. "You win, Scientia. I submit. No more."

"No more," Ignis agrees, stepping forward. "Six days, my dear. You've done yourself proud." He doesn't hesitate this time - call it his victory prize - and kisses Noctis' forehead and both cheeks. His dick gives a half-hearted twitch, but it's clear between the amount of pain he's endured and the amount of times he's come, there's nothing left in him.

"Yeah well. You play a mean fucking game. Gods, I'm never gonna get the feeling of your knives out of my bones."

And yeah, that's a dark kind of satisfaction right there, a possessiveness to the knowledge that Noctis will feel him for  _years._ "That's what you get for playing hard to get, love."

"Nngh. I can't walk."

Ignis picks him up, reaching for the long towel he has nearby, wrapping it around Noctis three times easily. "Let's put this ugliness aside, and go get you something to eat, hm? I shall run you a bath as well, I think. You're positively filthy."

"Your fault. Again."

"Then let me take responsibility for it."

"For the rest of your goddamned life, Ignis."

"Of course."

The future has never looked brighter, in Ignis' opinion.


End file.
